


Party Games | There's No I In Team

by Drarrymadhatter



Series: Seven Shades of Romance [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Bets & Wagers, Caring Draco Malfoy, Claustrophobia, Co-workers, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, Forced Proximity, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Panic Attacks, Party Games, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Stubborn Harry Potter, Team Bonding, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrymadhatter/pseuds/Drarrymadhatter
Summary: It’s the Ministry’s Interdepartmental Team Building Day, and Harry Potter finds himself in a team with Draco Malfoy. They’re forced to participate in team-building exercises, where they learn about each other’s demons and how to care for someone you thought you hated.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Seven Shades of Romance [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153148
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104
Collections: Seven Shades of Drarry





	Party Games | There's No I In Team

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Romance anthology](/series/2153148), the fourth in a series of collaborative projects within the [Seven Shades of Drarry](/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry) collective.
> 
> Chosen tropes: Party Games, Forced Proximity, Bets & Wagers, Co-Workers, Post-War PTSD, Hurt/Comfort
> 
> I'm thrilled to be included in this 4th collaboration. My co-writers are amazing people and writers and I count myself lucky to be able to work alongside them. This last year has been incredibly difficult what with the Covid-19 pandemic and I honestly don't think I would have made it through some days without my fellow Seven Shades friends.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/3tIY5TG); one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection.
> 
> Accompanying song: "I’ll be there for you" by Bon Jovi.

* * *

Harry’s footsteps echoed dully as he made his way down the corridor. He’d checked every door he passed so far and there was still no sign of where the git was hiding. 

Honestly, of all the stupid ideas the Ministry had implemented lately, this latest one was at the top of the list. Inter-Departmental Unity and Co-Worker Cooperation, indeed. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help but hold Hermione responsible for this. He’d seen her talking intently to Kingsley a few weeks prior, both of them frowning in serious concentration, scrolls of parchment flicking back and forth between them as they spoke. At the time, Harry just thought Hermione was trying to push her S.P.E.W. agenda once again, but now he wasn’t so sure. This sunshine and happiness, let’s-learn-to-love-each-other fest was just the sort of thing Hermione would likely come up with. Harry couldn’t help but smile affectionately at his friend’s idealism, but he found himself wishing this would be the last team-building exercise he’d be forced to endure. 

Turning right, Harry found himself facing a seemingly endless row of doors. Meticulously, he made his way along the corridor, trying each door he passed, thanking Godric when each one was magically locked for the weekend. After a few moments, one of the doors opened, the owner clearly having forgotten to lock it. Eyebrows raised, Harry flipped on the light and stepped inside, eyes sweeping the room for any potential hiding places. After a quick check behind the curtains and under the desk, he left the room, wondering how much longer this whole exercise would take. Knowing Malfoy, he’d probably hidden himself somewhere ridiculous. Fucking Slytherin.

Harry walked a bit further down the corridor and paused at a dull-looking door, much less polished than the others. Cautiously opening what looked like a poorly stocked supply cupboard, he flipped the light switch and found himself looking at several mops, buckets, brooms, and a very bored-looking Draco Malfoy leaning against the far wall. 

“Well, you finally found me.” The familiar drawl had long ceased to grate on Harry, instead causing him to roll his eyes at his old nemesis. “Do come in, Potter, or you’ll give the game away. Heaven forbid this torture should end prematurely.”

Harry fought back a shudder as he looked into the cupboard at the space around the clutter. Of course, Malfoy would have picked the smallest room in the building to hide in. He forced a swallow past his thickened tongue and tried to step forward, but his feet felt stuck.

“Well? You want to get us caught or what?” 

Harry forced himself to shake off his funk and stepped quickly into the cupboard. He settled himself against the wall furthest from where Malfoy was standing, pulling the door closed behind him as he went. His head thunked against the wall and he closed his eyes. As far as he was concerned, if he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t happening.

“The light, Potter. Honestly. I thought Aurors were meant to be half-decent at stealth and concealment?” The light beyond his eyelids vanished, plunging Harry into total darkness. Darkness was fine, though. If he couldn’t see the cupboard, it wasn’t really there. 

“Do you think they’ll take long to find us?” murmured Harry, determined to keep his mind off where he was. 

“I hope not,” answered Malfoy’s disembodied scoff. “But then, you took half an hour to find me, so I’m not sure how well that bodes for the rest of the idiots on our team.”

“They’re not idiots, Malfoy.”

“Really? replied Malfoy in mock astonishment. “Goldstein isn’t an idiot? The man makes trolls look intelligent.”

“He was in Ravenclaw, remember. He’s not thick.” This was good, Harry thought to himself. If he just kept his eyes closed and focused on Malfoy talking crap then maybe, just maybe, he would be fine.

“Maybe not academically, but the man has no intuition. I bet ten Galleons he’s the last to find us.”

“I don’t know…Mafalda’s pretty old.” Harry could just picture the elderly woman shuffling around the Ministry, her cane tapping the tiled floors as she searched for their hiding place. 

“She might be old, but she knows this Ministry inside out and her mind’s still pretty sharp.”

“Whatever.” Harry sighed and kept his eyes closed. In all honesty, he couldn’t care less about who found them last, as long as it was soon. 

“What’s up? Scared? Worried you’ll lose?”

“You wish, Malfoy,” he intoned, but as the familiar words fell automatically from his lips, he couldn’t help but think the bet might help keep his mind occupied. “Fine. Ten Galleons that Anthony isn’t the last to find us.”

*****

It had been silent for the last few minutes, and Harry wondered if Malfoy had actually fallen asleep. The quiet felt like a weighted blanket pressing into his skin. The darkness held him tightly against the wall, cradling him, like it once did, long ago, back when—

“What sort of name is  _ Trout _ for a game, anyway?” Harry was pulled from his thoughts, and for once found himself grateful for Malfoy’s constant need to talk.

“ _ Trout _ ?” He forced the words out through gritted teeth. “It’s  _ Sardines _ , Malfoy.”

“Whatever. A fish’s a fish.”

“It’s meant to be fun,” gasped Harry. He could feel the darkness pressing in on him, creeping closer, and he scrunched up his eyes as tight as they would go. 

“Uhuh. And are you having fun? Because it seems to me like you’re loathing this as much as I am.” There was a rustling like Malfoy was shifting his position, and then he spoke again, his voice sounding slightly nearer than before. “Are you okay, Potter?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem well....” Malfoy’s asked uncertainly.  _ Of course _ , Harry thought uncharitably,  _ he’s worried he’ll get the blame if I pass out _ .

“H-how can you tell? It’s pitch black in here.”

“I can hear your breathing. It sounds shallow and fast.”

“Bugger off and keep quiet,” Harry managed to rasp, his temples throbbing with dull panic. “Anthony will hear us and then you’ll have lost your daddy’s precious gold.”

“Fuck you, Potter. I was just asking.”

Harry pressed his lips together firmly and focused on breathing through his nose, nice and slow, the way he’d learned the summer after the war had ended. He felt distant, guilty pangs for taking such a cheap shot at Malfoy’s dad, but there was no room in his head for regret. He needed to breathe.

“Fine, have it your way.” The dismissal was clear, and Harry was glad for it. He needed calm, and whatever feelings Malfoy stirred in him, calmness wasn’t one of them.

Harry stiffened suddenly at the sound of heels clicking somewhere outside the door. As the sound grew louder, the hairs on Harry’s arms began to stand on end, sending an itching sensation running all over his skin. Slowly, he slid down the wall until he was crouched on the floor, curling in on himself as much as he possibly could. He could hear the doorknob squeak slightly as it was twisted and a flood of light shone through his scrunched-up eyelids. Harry held his breath, waiting for Aunt Petunia’s screech to start breakfast to assault his ears. 

It never came.

“Found you!” crowed Lavender as she closed the door behind her and made to turn the light back off.

“Wait a minute.” Malfoy scooted over to sit next to Harry. “Are you sick or something?”

“Wow, Draco’s right, Harry. You don’t look well at all. Maybe a drink of water or something?”

“No,” whispered Harry, his eyes still shut tight. “It’s just a headache. I get them sometimes. It’s nothing.”

“If you’re sure,” Lavender replied, the doubt audible in her voice. “But if you need some fresh air or something, just let us know, okay?”

As soon as Harry jerked a stiff nod in her direction, she flipped the light switch, plunging the cupboard once more into darkness. 

“So, you found us pretty quickly,” observed Malfoy. “I do hope you weren’t cheating with your heightened werewolf sense of smell.”

“Cheating? Why Draco, I’m horrified at the implication. I simply used the tools at my disposal. It’s not my fault I’m the only half-were on the team.”

Harry stayed slumped against the wall and listened, the inane babble helping to distract him from his ragged nerves. 

*****

Fifteen minutes later the door to the cupboard opened, and the light flipped on once again to reveal a red-faced Penelope Clearwater. 

“Ah, here you guys are,” she puffed, clutching her side. “Excellent. I was worried I’d be last.” After a moment or two, she straightened up and stepped inside the cupboard next to Lavender, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, they were once again plunged into darkness. With four people in the cupboard, the air was beginning to feel thin. Harry curled his hands into fists, his fingernails pressing into the soft flesh of his palms. His breaths were coming slightly faster now, the air puffing over his clenched teeth making a light whistle every now and then.

“This isn’t that bad,” Penelope mused, “considering you could have picked anywhere to hide. At least there’s some breathing room in here.”

“Yes, your maximum comfort was my main priority, of course,” quipped Malfoy.

“Now, play nice, Mr Malfoy. Who knows how long we might need to endure each other in here?”

“Mr Malfoy? Merlin, that sounds dreadfully droll, doesn’t it? Perhaps we could just stick with Draco for now, Penelope?”

“There’s nothing wrong with observing formalities, Mr Malfoy,” teased Penelope, seeming to enjoy herself.

“Harry? Is that you who’s breathing oddly? You don’t sound very good?”

“I’m fine,” Harry hissed into the darkness for what felt like the tenth time. “Headache.”

“We already asked him and got the same answer, Penny.” Lavender’s voice was resigned. 

“Indeed,” agreed Malfoy, “There’s no point in wasting your breath.”

“You’re not okay, Harry.” Penelope’s usually kind voice had taken on a firm edge. “It sounds like you’re having a panic attack.”

“What’s up, Potter? Scared of the dark?”

“Mr Malfoy — quiet! Harry, can I come over to you? See if you’re okay? I’m medically trained.”

“No, please. Just give me some space. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” He knew his voice was rising in pitch and found himself wishing Malfoy wasn’t there. No doubt he would never hear the end of this.

“If you change your mind—”

“Shhh, I think I can hear footsteps,” interrupted Lavender, and a pregnant silence descended upon them.

Sure enough, a moment later, the door swung open to reveal a triumphant Percy Weasley. 

“Ah, splendid. I thought I heard talking.” 

Quickly, he closed the door smartly behind him and settled himself against a free patch of wall, before continuing on.

“I don’t mind us talking to pass the time, but we should aim to whisper. I could hear the chatter quite clearly when I was nearing the door. We don’t want to make it too easy for the others, now do we?”

“Whatever, Weasley.” Malfoy sighed, his arm pressing up against Harry’s as they sat side by side.

“Harry? I say, are you alright?” 

“I’m. Fine.” Harry was ready to snap. He was sick of having to repeat himself.

“He keeps saying that,” added Lavender, “even though he’s not.” 

“Harry —”

“Leave it, Percy. For once, just let it go.”

“You heard him, Weasley; give the Saviour his space.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

*****

Another ten minutes later, Kingsley yanked the door open briskly, grinning as if he was having the time of his life. Seconds later, he’d joined them inside, having squeezed himself in between Lavender and Penelope. 

“Good hiding place, Draco, well done,” offered Kingsley jovially. “It’s no easy feat to find a hiding spot with enough space for us all to fit in.”

“Thanks, Minister. I live for your praise, and now that I have it, my life is suddenly complete.”

“Malfoy!” gasped Percy in horror. “You should have more respect when speaking to the Minister!”

“It’s alright, Percy. I’m not the Minister right now, merely a team member.”

“Still, Percy’s right.” Penelope agreed, her voice quiet. “A little respect goes a long way, Mr Malfoy.”

“Stop calling me, Mr Malfoy. It’s weirdly formal for the situation, don’t you think?”

“Situation?”

“He means for us being in a cupboard,” wheezed Harry. His lungs felt like they were full of fire ants, biting and crawling their way inside him with every breath he took.

“Respect is prudent in all areas of life, even when inside a cupboard, Malfoy,” came Percy’s snooty voice.

“Tell me, Weasley, do you have to work hard to keep that stick shoved up your arse, or does it just come naturally?”

“Guys! That’s enough. We’re stuck in close quarters for the moment, so can we please be civil? Honestly. Don’t make me use my Minister voice,” warned Kingsley. “Harry? Are you okay over there?”

“Don’t bother, Minister.” Lavender yawned, obviously bored with the whole thing. “He says he’s apparently fine.”

“I am.”

“Harry, you’re not.”

“Leave it, Kingsley. Please.” His voice must have reached a new pitch of pathetic, as Kingsley thankfully backed off from asking any more questions. The slight press of Malfoy’s arm against his was comforting, grounding, not that he would ever tell him that. The tightness had spread from his chest to around his back as well, and he shifted his shoulder blades to try and ease some of the tension. Slowly, Harry became aware that Malfoy’s arm was moving behind him until the long, elegant fingers made contact with his back. Then, before Harry could react, the fingers began stroking firm but cautious circles on the patch of skin exposed from where his t-shirt had ridden up against the wall.

His first instinct was to shove Malfoy away and end whatever game he was playing, but the motion was soothing, and Harry could feel himself relax into the touch. The gentle circles distracted him from the tightness around his torso, making it slightly easier for him to breath. After a moment, the itchiness in his skin began to recede. His shoulders, still stiff and tense, felt less heavy. All the while, Malfoy kept his fingers moving, never slowing or drawing attention. 

“So,” asked Penelope in an obvious effort to change the subject, “do you think we’ll be in here long?”

“As long as it takes for Goldstein to find us. I already bet Potter ten Galleons he would be the last one.”

“That’s not very sporting of you, Malfoy,” chided Percy.

“I’ll take that bet.”

“Minister!”

“What? We’re meant to be bonding as a team, why not make a Galleon or two out of it?”

“If the Minister’s in, then so am I.” Penelope sounded gleeful. “Ten Galleons on Mafalda being last. She’s quite old, and those stairs are quite the trek.”

“Yup, same here,” Lavender chimed in. “Anthony has youth on his side, after all.”

“You’re all going to be sorely disappointed when I’m proven right, you know.”

Sure enough, it was about twenty minutes later that Mafalda Hopkirk finally found them, much to Malfoy’s pleasure. Within seconds, she had plonked herself down on an upturned bucket, swished her wand to close the door and turned the light off. 

“How are we all?” she asked lightly as if she regularly sat with near-strangers in dark cupboards.

“Pretty well, considering I’ve just won a tidy sum,” gloated Malfoy.

“Whatever do you mean, young man?”

“Just a little bet on who would be last to find us, Mafalda.”

“Humph, and you all bet I would be last? Well, it serves you right that you lost Galleons then. I might be old, but I’m not stupid. How that boy managed to survive in Ravenclaw, I’ll never know.”

“I don’t like to speak poorly of my housemates, but he is a bit of a simpleton, isn’t he?” agreed Penelope quietly.

“Mr Potter,” began Mafalda after a moment of silence, “I dare say you don’t sound well.”

Harry merely focused upon Malfoy’s fingers and ignored the question, instead letting the others assure Mafalda that he was, indeed, fine.

*****

The end of the whole torturous day had finally arrived and Harry couldn’t have been more relieved. The team had agreed to head over to the Leaky Cauldron for drinks to celebrate, although some members disagreed about what, exactly, they were celebrating. Kingsley kept referring to the drinks as a reward, whereas it was clear from the scowl on Malfoy’s face that he just wanted the oblivion Firewhisky promised. Harry managed to get out of the whole thing easily enough, citing feeling unwell as his defence. Luckily, Kingsley had recalled Harry’s state in the cupboard and had ushered him towards the Floo, ordering him to go home and rest up.

Now, still red-skinned from a hot shower, Harry was settled in his favourite armchair, sipping Firewhisky from a heavy crystal glass, part of a set that had been a flat-warming gift from Bill and Fleur. He held the glass loosely in his hand and closed his eyes, finally feeling the stress of the day leech from his muscles. Merlin, he was glad today was over. 

He took another deep sip of his drink and thought back over the day’s events, how he kept being placed with Malfoy at every turn. Some of the exercises were fine, if a bit pointless, like the Two Truths And A Lie. You weren’t allowed to get personal in any way, for which Harry supposed he should have been grateful, so the statements were the most boring drivel possible. Harry found himself scoffing at the memory of Kingsley announcing that the claim he had purple slippers was a lie. Like anyone cared about his bloody slippers. 

The most uncomfortable had been that eye contact exercise. Imaginatively named ‘Eye Contact’, the participants had to pair off and hold eye contact for two minutes exactly. It was meant to build trust or some nonsense, but all it did was make everyone ridiculously uncomfortable. 

Staring into those glacial orbs had made those two minutes the longest of his life. He’d always thought of Malfoy’s eyes as being flatly grey, flint cold, and imperturbable, but the longer he looked the more he realised just how wrong that was. They weren’t grey at all, but the palest blue, like light glinting off ripples of the ocean. As the seconds had ticked by, he’d felt himself fall deeper into those eyes, mesmerised by sporadic flecks of silver and powder blue. 

He’d just started to think that Malfoy’s eyes were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen when Malfoy had broken the tense silence. Harry had never been more grateful for distraction in his entire life.

_ “So…” _

_ “So what, Malfoy?” _

_ “What was that in the cupboard.” _

_ “Maybe this should be more of a quiet game, Malfoy.” _

_ “I was just asking, you arse.” _

_ “It was nothing.” _

_ “Yeah, nothing. Sure.  _ Nothing  _ frequently causes people to dissolve into panic attacks during team building games.” _

_ “It was your aftershave, actually. It was practically choking me. Do you bathe in the stuff?” _

_ “I’d rather that than forgoing the basic rules of hygiene like you seem to have done.” _

_ “It’s just to annoy you, of course.” _

_ “So are you going to answer the question?” _

_ “You tell me why you were rubbing my back and I’ll tell you what was bothering me.” _

_ “Maybe you’re right, this is more of a quiet exercise.” _

_ “Time’s up. Always a pleasure, Malfoy.” _

_ “I’m sure.” _

Harry shook off the memory and took another sip of his drink. Beautiful eyes indeed. The lack of oxygen from the panic attack had clearly clouded his thinking, cause there was no way there was anything beautiful about that prickly twit.

Just as he was about to drain his glass, the doorbell rang throughout his flat. Curious as to who it might be — everyone he knew was at the pub, after all — Harry pushed himself up off the chair and shuffled over towards the door. Seconds later, he found himself wishing he had just ignored it.

“Malfoy…?” Of all the people to turn up on his doorstep, this would have been his last guess, except perhaps for Voldemort.

“Well deduced, Potter. That Auror training certainly wasn't wasted on you!” The drawl was off and lacked the usual bite. Malfoy was leaning casually against the door frame, but Harry couldn’t help but pay attention to how his cheeks were tinged pink and how his perfectly white teeth nibbled at the plump flesh of his bottom lip. If he didn’t know better, he'd think the git was nervous about something, and when did that ever bode well?

“What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” Harry felt his eyebrows twitch high upon his forehead as he attempted to think the situation through.

“How did you find out where I live?”

“Percy Weasley.” Malfoy barked a hearty laugh as he tried to elaborate. “It turns out he’s a total lightweight. A couple of Firewhiskies and he sang like a canary. Did you know he used to fancy Madame Hooch?”

“What?” That random piece of information knocked Harry entirely off-kilter. Hooch? The strict flying instructor who was in a relationship with Sprout? Suddenly he couldn’t wait to tell Ron, and George, and basically everyone who didn’t already know. “Seriously?”

“That’s what he announced to the table at any rate. He kept going on about her firm grip on her broom and her polishing technique.” 

“Ugh! That’s a mental picture I could have lived without!” He gave his head a quick shake and tried to focus back on the situation at hand. “So, what do you want?”

“To talk, that’s all. No nefarious plans here, I assure you.” Malfoy lifted his hands up as he spoke, as if to demonstrate his lack of ill intent. “So, are you going to let me in?”

Harry thought for a second, then stepped back, holding the door wide for his impromptu visitor. “Fine,” he said as Malfoy stepped past him into the flat, “make yourself at home.”

Malfoy took off his cloak and hung it on a free prong of the coat stand Harry had brought with him from Grimmauld Place. Luckily, it was much nicer than the thing in the hall with the troll leg — he still shivered just thinking about it — the shiny mahogany blending in perfectly with the rest of his flat. 

He led Malfoy back into the sitting room and gestured for him to take a seat while he fetched them both another round of Firewhisky. Once he’d handed Malfoy his glass and settled into his armchair with his own, Harry decided he might as well tackle the Boggart in the room.

“What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Earlier in the cupboard—” 

“Oh for Godric’s sake!” interrupted Harry suddenly furious. What bloody business was it of his anyway? “Why the hell are you still going on about it? Just let it go!”

“I can’t. I just need to know.”

“Oh really,” demanded Harry mockingly, “and why is that exactly?”

“Because I care.”

The admission brought Harry up short and he found himself staring open-mouthed like a fish in a net. Malfoy had almost whispered the words, as if scared to utter them. Harry wanted to rant at the unlikeliness of the statement, but he couldn’t. He studied Malfoy’s face and watched as nerves and worry and hope flickered across his aristocratic features. It was uncanny — how this was Malfoy’s face without any of the pure-blood attitude. It seemed outside the laws of physics, a sign of the apocalypse for sure.

“Why?” breathed Harry, unable to think of anything else to say in the moment.

“I was wondering the same thing, if I’m honest.” Malfoy raked a hand through his hair and hissed a breath out through his teeth. “I don’t know why, just that I do. When you weren’t okay, I wanted to help fix it. Afterwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened to make you scared.” Malfoy bit his lip again for a moment, clearly marshalling his thoughts to continue. “You’re never scared, Potter. No, seriously.” Malfoy insisted as Harry let out a loud scoff. “I’ve seen you face down Dark Lords and stand up to insane Ministry officials and you never bat an eyelid. A world where you’re as scared as you were in that cupboard is a world I don’t understand.”

“I hate to break this to you, Malfoy, but I’m always scared. I was scared as a child, and when I first went to Hogwarts. Every time something shitty happened to me I was scared. I think I’ve been scared most of my life.”

“Then you hide it really fucking well, Potter.” 

“There’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for,” Harry deadpanned, as he took a sip of his drink. He felt like pinching himself to see if he was really sitting in his living room drinking with Draco Malfoy of all people. Maybe he had passed out and this was a weird dream.

“How about an exchange, Potter?” Harry looked over at Malfoy and saw he was holding his drink in both hands, his lips pursed in thought. “Quid pro quo. You tell me what happened in the cupboard and I’ll tell you something of equal importance in return.”

“Mutually assured destruction?” Harry swirled his drink, mulling over the proposal. As much as he hated to talk about the Dursleys, he couldn’t deny he was curious about what Malfoy might tell him.

“You’re on, but on two conditions. One — it needs to be on an equal scale. I’m not telling you my thing just for you to tell me about your favourite teddy bear or some drivel.”

“Agreed.”

“Two — we don’t bring it up again. Once we’re done here that’s the last we talk of it.” 

“Alright, and that goes both ways, Potter.” 

“Fine.” Harry took a deep drink of his Firewhisky for Dutch courage and began to talk, wanting the tale over with as quickly as possible. 

“Everyone knows I was raised by my Muggle relatives. My Aunt Petunia was my Mum’s sister and I was left to be raised by her and her husband Vernon. They had a son too, Dudley, who was a year older than me. On paper, it sounds like it should have been fine, maybe even fun to live there. Family ties, and a cousin close in age that I could play with, right? But that’s not how it turned out.” 

He paused for another drink, relishing the burn off the alcohol tracking its way down his throat. Merlin, he hated talking about this stuff. It never got any easier. He focused carefully on his knee, knowing that he would never get through it if he had to look at Malfoy’s expression.

“They hated magic. They said I was unnatural and that my parents were freaks. Magic, even pretend magic, was bad. Any mention of anything even remotely out of the ordinary resulted in my being punished. They made me sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, which didn’t have a light in it. I had a thin makeshift mattress and a blanket. If I got cold, they didn’t care. Sometimes, they would lock me in there for hours, sometimes even for a couple of days. They didn’t always need a reason, sometimes it was as a punishment for getting better grades than Dudley or not getting the chores done quickly enough. Other times, I think it was just so they wouldn’t have to look at or deal with me.”

Curiosity got the better of him and he found himself glancing up at Malfoy. A look of pure revulsion and fury glared back at him. That was fine as far as Harry was concerned. Anger was far better than pity any day of the week. Or, Merlin forbid, tears. 

“That’s fucked up, Potter,” Malfoy croaked, his pale face twisted in disgust.

“It is what it is,” Harry shrugged carelessly, “I usually manage it fine. I just try to keep away from small, dark spaces. It honestly hardly ever comes up. Auror’s don’t tend to have many reasons to go into cleaning cupboards.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” admitted Malfoy, causing Harry to smile at the thought of finally rendering him speechless. “I always assumed you’d grown up being worshipped by your Muggle family.” 

The idea of the Dursley’s bowing down to him and giving in to his every whim was ridiculous and pulled a large belly laugh from Harry, causing Draco to look at him questioningly. 

“Sorry, it’s just… the nicest thing they ever did for me was letting me stay at Hogwarts for Christmas instead of making me stay in my cupboard the entire holiday. “

“You didn’t deserve that, Potter. No child does.”

“I survived.” Harry couldn't help but smile at that, because despite their best efforts, he really had survived. Despite everything they'd thrown at him, he'd come out the better person. It didn’t make it better but it did take away some of the sting.

Suddenly, Harry felt a shiver pass over him and realised that the room had grown a bit colder since they’d sat down. Harry picked up his wand from the coffee table and lit the fire, the flames sending a volley of heat over his skin, rather like he was sinking into a hot bath. He stretched out his legs a little and took another sip of his drink. He waited... It was Malfoy’s turn and Harry knew he would keep to the terms.

Sure enough, after a moment Harry heard Malfoy clear his throat, ready to tell his tale. 

“My father has never once hugged me. I know it sounds stupid compared to what happened to you, but it’s always stayed with me. He never hugged me, never smiled. He was always very stoic, very reserved. As young as three years old, he would sit me down and lecture me on how affection and strong emotions were a weakness which could be exploited by your enemies. He said a Malfoy was always self-reliant and strong. Whenever I was upset or scared, like if I had a nightmare or had fallen over, he would look so disappointed. No matter what I did, or how I behaved, there was always something I could have done better, faster, with less emotion. I don’t think he even really loved me beyond my worth as his heir.”

Harry held Malfoy’s gaze unwaveringly. He knew the other man would be searching his face for pity. He could relate — pity was one of the worst things a person could feel for you.

“Every child needs love and you weren’t any different.” Harry made sure to keep his voice firm, but low. “Your father should have known better.”

“My mother more than made up for it, though. Whenever my father was away on business, which was often, she would squeeze me tightly. At night before bed, she would sit and brush my hair and sing to me, always the same song. When she was sewing in her sunroom, she would let me sit at her feet and tell me fairy stories.” A small smile tugged at Malfoy’s mouth at the memory. “They’re the memories I think of when I need to cast a Patronus.”

Harry found himself leaning forwards, his interest stirred. 

“What form does your Patronus take? A ferret? A peacock?”

“Fuck off, Potter,” replied Malfoy goodnaturedly. “You’d just love it if it were, wouldn’t you?”

“You have to admit, it would be hysterical,” agreed Harry with a grin.

*****

They sipped the rest of their drinks in silence in front of the fire, until finally Malfoy put his empty glass on the table and stood up to leave, quickly mirrored by Harry. 

“Thanks for having me, Potter.”

“Harry.” At Malfoy’s blank stare he elaborated. “We’ve just had a heart-to-heart in my flat, I think we can drop the last names now.”

“Okay then, I’ll call you Harry if you call me Draco.”

“Are you going to tell me honestly why you came here, Draco?”

“I guess I just wanted to see you.”

“Really?” Harry felt himself blush at the unexpected compliment. “Why?”

“I don’t rightly know,” chuckled Draco, his cheeks almost as crimson as Harry’s felt. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you and it was starting to drive me mad.”

“Are you busy on Friday? We could go for a drink at the Leaky and talk some more if you like.”

“Friday?” blinked Draco, the sudden turn of events knocking him for six. “Friday’s Valentine’s day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, so do you fancy it then?” Now that he’d asked, he realised just how much he wanted Draco to say yes. 

“Don’t you have a hot date lined up?” 

“I might have, depending on how you answer,” responded Harry cheekily.

“You’re on, Harry.” The warmth from Draco’s smile was infectious and they found themselves grinning goofily at each other in the hallway. “A Valentine’s date with Harry Potter? Who would have thought?”

“I know the feeling,” agreed Harry happily. He tugged open the front door as Draco fetched his cloak from the stand. “I’ll meet out just outside the Leaky at six then?”

“Perfect,” breathed Draco, and Harry had to stop himself from punching the air in triumph. 

Draco was halfway out the door when he suddenly turned on the spot to face Harry.

“It’s a deer. My Patronus is a deer.” 

“Like mine?” blurted Harry in surprise.

“Sort of.” shrugged Draco self-consciously. “It’s a baby male deer. A young buck, I think it’s called. A bit larger than a fawn, with the barest hint of antlers beginning to form.”

Before Harry could process what that meant, if it meant anything at all, Draco ducked forwards and planted a soft kiss against his cheek. By the time Harry’s brain had caught up with him, Draco had already left, his footsteps echoing as he jogged down the stairwell.

Harry pressed his fingers lightly against the spot where Draco had kissed him as he closed the door. Valentine’s was usually hell for him, what with crazy fans popping up and love potions flying through the mail. For the first time in ages, he could feel himself getting excited about the holiday. With any luck, Friday was going to be a hell of a night. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Seven Shades of Romance anthology](/series/2153148), a series of Drarry fics inspired by the romantic spirit of Valentine’s Day.
> 
> There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found [here on Spotify](https://spoti.fi/3tIY5TG); one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection.


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